


Happiness is a Warm Home

by LoondeLune



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dickkory is canon yeet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Jason being adopted is canon yeet, adoption au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-02 07:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoondeLune/pseuds/LoondeLune
Summary: Jason Todd hates his life. He hates being alone, hates the city that never sleeps, hates and hates.Until a stranger shows him kindness and that the world is filled with better things than hate.Things like hope and happiness.





	1. Silent City

**Author's Note:**

> Adoption AU where Jason is found by Dick in Crime Alley instead of Bruce.

The night is cold and unforgiving. She shivers and waits, restless, relentless. The fire that roars from rusted barrels is warm and bright, it heats up bones made brittle by night’s frigid desires.

He waits, watching, waiting, crouching in night’s shadows. Always watching, always waiting. Craving, more, more, more.

His hand twitches, clenching and unclenching, skin bitten red by the frost of the metal. His target is big and shiny and new; it twinkles like a star in the sky, a toy inviting him to play. Eyes sharp, calculating, watching, waiting, always watching and always waiting. For the moment to run, to strike, to steal, to move.

Frigid air collects in his lungs, a different kind of burn than the fire on the streets; an ache that settles into the deepest bronchioles, frost collecting and spreading into the branches of his lungs, colliding with the warmth of blood. Misty air puffed out of his cheeks, an ever present reminder of the plummeting temperature and he needed to work fast, fast, fast.

A tall figure walks away from his shiny new toy. The tire iron is heavy in his hand, weighs him down, whispers _I'm ready, let's go_. He waits. Breath bated. Mist dissipated.

He walks away, twisting his body upwards in flips and spirals, blends in with the shadows like a raven in the night.

He creeps closer, slowly, quietly. He's done this many times. It's just his rent and food, no big deal. He creeps closer and closer still, the iron heavier and heavier until his arms feel like they will fall off. He works fast, efficient, pulls the tires off the bike. They're big and expensive and he considers hot-wiring the thing to take for a ride. He'd get a pretty penny for it, he knows, but he isn't stupid; something this new and shiny stands out, gets attention, attention he does not want nor need. So he relents on fairytales and dreams and gets back to work.

A shadowy figure creeps up behind him, looming, but he's smaller, quicker. He moves fast, abandons the tires, darts away, his legs springing forward. His muscles are tired but true. They know these streets, know them better than anything, so he moves on instinct.

“Try and catch me ya big boob!”

He moves the wrong way. The figure catches him, grabs him by the scruff of his collar. The man lived up to his name flying on the wings of the night.

“Hey, calm down!”

He's kicking and fighting with every fiber of his being and he can't stop, he won't stop, not for anything or anyone. He's got to get away, away, away.

“Hey, hey, I'm not gonna hurt you kid.”

The adrenaline wears him down, not the vigilantes words. His breath comes out in short bursts of white clouds on black ink. The man sets him down, crouches down to eye level, places heavy hands on scrawny shoulders and grounds him.

“What's your name?”

He looks the man in the eye, jaw squared like his momma taught him in the face of those stronger, pulls his shoulders back and puffs his chest out, his cheeks burning bright. 

The man chuckles softly, releases one shoulder to hold out a gloved hand.

“I'm Dick.”

He laughs. It's a short burst but it comes out before he can stop it and then he's laughing even more. This whole situation is absurd. One of the toughest, smartest, wittiest vigilantes in Gotham was named Dick. It wasn't that funny but to a scared ten year old who just saw his life flash before his eyes, well, it was damn near the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“Well, it's Richard but everyone calls me Dick,” he says a bit sheepishly.

And now he's laughing even harder because the man named Dick is embarrassed about a ten year old laughing at his name and it's so. It's so…not what he expected.

The night is cold and unforgiving. She watches in silence as the world unfolds around her. She seethes and glares at the inhabitants of her world, waiting for the darkness to belong to her once more.

In the night a warmth can be found, in the smile of a masked vigilante who stops to talk with a young boy.

“What's your name?”

His voice is quiet, gentle, yet it reverberates throughout the silence of cowardly alleyways.

“…it's Jason.”

“Jason,” he tests the name, tasting it for sourness or bitterness no doubt. “What are you doing out here so late at night Jason? It's dangerous.”

He knows the dangers that lurk in the black quiet of night. The crime-lords and their lackeys that prey on anything that moves; the drug addicts paying sums too high for their next hit to light up colorless eyes; men watching from corner streets waiting to pounce on unsuspecting victims that are powerless against them, all for the rush of control that is gone long before their heinous crimes are done.

Yes, he is but a boy, yet he knows of the dangers that lurk in the quiet dark of the silent city.

He looks down to the tire iron. It could be used as a weapon he supposes. He looks to the man in front of him, with the firm hand on his shoulder and the soft yet stern look in his eyes. Something about this man has him hesitating, something akin to hope. Hope that maybe this man will listen to his woes, truly listen. Hope that someone may care why a boy his age must steal in order to eat for the week, why his breath reeks of cigarette smoke, why his clothes have long been outgrown, why, why, _why_.

_Why him?_

Angry tears sting his eyes and he's crying. He's crying and he can't stop. Can't stop the flow of tears.

This is why he hates kindness.

No one can show kindness in this life. If they do, well then they’re just asking to be taken advantage of. No, no one can show kindness or they're weak. He is weak.

He is weak to kindness.

And so he cries.

And the man listens.

“It's okay Jason. Just breathe. In and out.”

Something warm and tight is wrapped around him, like a blanket only heavier, and he realizes that the man is hugging him. He cries harder. He is weak to kindness.

“That's it, just like that. In and out. In and out…”

His voice fades into the city, quiet and subtle, yet heard.

The night is no longer silent.


	2. Sweet Like Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason meets Dick's better half and is invited into their warm home.

He takes him to a different part of the city. It’s new but still holds remnants of the crime that reminds him of home.

The apartment is small and cozy. He's used to small; the cramped kind of small that suffocates slowly, trash littered stealing what little space is left no matter how much he tries to keep it tidy. The coziness is foreign. He feels like he's in a whole other city, one that does not know the darkness he was born into, one that doesn't have scars and wounds the size of small craters in its flesh.

In. Out.

He breathes in the scent of savory food wafting from the kitchen, listens to the hum-drum noise of the tiny apartment, pots and pans clanging together in a symphony of homey music. Someone is singing, and he hasn't been to school in awhile but he's smart enough to know that the language isn't his own. The melody is soft and sweet like the person singing it. She hovers into view at the call of the man.

In. Out.

His heart is racing and he doesn't know why. Ants crawl beneath his skin, just above his blood vessels, creeping and crawling every which way igniting his flesh. He itches and squirms, assesses his options for a way out. They're pretty high up, so the fire escape seems like the best exit. If he's fast enough he can turn on his heels and make a break for the front door.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

“Hello.”

He jumps, startled at the close proximity of the woman, his mind reeling. She appeared before him soundlessly, a golden glowing apparition. _Ah_ , he realizes, _she’s floating_.

She smiles warmly, extends a hand, waits. He breathes. In. And out.

“My name is Kory,” she tilts her head to the side smiling. “What should I call you little one?”

“Not little one.”

He replies immediately, without thinking, before his brain can catch up. His hand smacks loudly against him mouth, eyes wide and bulging. Laughter fills the air and crowds into his ears. It rebounds all around him, the sound overflowing and replacing the noise of blood rushing fast, too fast. He looks to the man but he laughs silent giggles behind a glove-clad hand, shoulders shaking, so he returns his wild gaze to the woman. Her face is alight with pure glee, crinkles forming at her bright green eyes, mouth open and with abandon.

“Okay, not little one,” she says between giggles. "What should I call you then?”

He lowers his hand from his mouth, slowly, warily.

“Jason.”

His voice is shaking and he hates it. Hates how weak he is in this moment before these strangers. Hates how weak he is to kindness. Most of all he hates himself. He hates.

He hates that he is full of hate.

The woman smiles kindly, and there's a knowingness in her smile, something that says she hears his innermost thoughts. There is a sadness in her eyes as she surveys him in his tattered clothes, body littered with bruises and scars, shoes worn down and nearly sole-less.

“Okay Jason. Are you hungry?”

Her hand is still outstretched and he looks at it now, fixes his gaze. There are scars across her palm, shiny slash marks that mar her golden skin. Something in his heart clenches at the sight. The woman exudes kindness and he wants to take her hand.

So he does.

* * *

Gooey warm chocolate sticks to his tongue and teeth. The cookies are soft and break apart easily, crumbs and sweetness sticking to every crack and crevice of his fingers. The man and woman speak in hushed tones around him.

He tries not to eavesdrop. He knows where that leads to; broken apologies said in warbled words distorted from saltwater tears; a stinging slap across the face, the ghost of a hand leaving scorch marks across his round cheeks.

The sound of his persistent chewing drowned out curious ears. They stood close to each other, the woman looking down at the man with kindness in her eyes, her hands encircling around him as she listened intently. He noticed how the man leaned into her touch, and he found himself wondering what that was like.

To be so obviously loved.

He was working on his fourth cookie and second glass of milk when the sound of wooden chairs scraped against the floor. They were sat on either side of him, their faces schooled into neutral masks and small smiles.

“Jason,” Dick began.

_Just breathe in and out._

His mind raced as his heart plummeted. He needed to come up with a plan, to plea his case or to get out. Nightwing may be less scary than Batman but he still culled a fear right and true. There were only two options readily available to him: he would be tossed back home, unwanted and uncared for as the masked vigilante turned a blind eye and gave useless words about second chances that didn't really exist in his world; or he would be left to the wolves of Gotham’s child protective agency. He shuddered at the thought.

Something warm touched his skin and he looked down startled, yanked his hand away as if he’d been burnt at the contact of hand on hand. Koriand’r retracted her hand slowly, her mask of neutrality giving way to sympathy.

He hated sympathy. Hated what it did to him. It was empty words coated in empty emotion, sugary sweetness that lasted but a second before it melted on the tongue to be forgotten until the next taste.

“Jason….,” she began tentatively, “Dick has told me about your situation. About what happened to your mother.”

He’d never been to the desert, never felt it's white hot heat, but his throaty felt dry, his saliva glands out of function.

A hand reached out, slowly, hesitant. It stops midway, waiting for a movement, a sign that it's okay. He stays still, doesn't move, doesn't want to move. So he sits and watches and waits, always watching, always waiting. The hand moves closer, closer, closer. It finds its target, encloses around his trembling fingers, squeezes them, stills them.

“Jason,” Dick began again. Jason swallowed around the dry tightness of his throat. “How do you feel about staying with us for awhile?”

“How long is awhile?” He asks, voice trembling, and he hates that it trembles, hates that he shakes at this man’s words.

But even more so he hopes.

Dick smiles kindly. “As long as it takes to figure something more permanent out. We won't just toss you to the streets again. You don't ever have to go back there.”

His hands ball into tight fists, Koriand’r holding on just as tight. Wetness taint his eyes again spilling over, betraying him.

His words carry the weight of the world in them.

Yet he believes in them.

“Okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a writing mood so have two chapters in one day :D
> 
> Please enjoy <3


	3. Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason finds his place in his new home with Dick and Kory.

Soaring, flying, he's never felt so light, like air, like a bird on a current of wind. Kory and Dick take turns staying home. Dick is gone more often than Kory; he's the leader of the Titans, and he doesn't quite know what that means, the only leaders he's ever encountered being those of the criminal variety. Drug lords and gang leaders abound plentifully in Crime Alley.

But he’s the leader so he’s gone a lot. He doesn't mind so much as he treasures his time spent with Kory. She tells him fantastical tales of her time on Earth and as a Titan, spins gossamer stories of her home planet Tamaran. He listens with rapt attention each night, blanket tucked in around him, belly full of home-cooked meals, heart full of something he never thought he’d get to experience. Care, hope, adoration. Maybe even love.

He's scared.

The anxiety is always there, an ever present pressure on his chest, weighing him down, down, down to the depths of despair. In his darkest hours he lies awake, staring out at night as she stares back, silent, waiting, whispering _you shall be mine once more._

Tonight he is warm and accompanied not by night but by the woman with golden skin and hair like fire.

He grows heavy lidded as Kory speaks on in a soft voice, caressing his hair, and it does not escape him how she gently presses her lips to his forehead, says “good night little one”, turns off the light but makes sure to leave the door open a crack so light from the hallway filters in. She never leaves him completely in the dark.

And he hopes.

* * *

Some days he goes with Dick and Kory to the Tower. He is quickly acquainted with their teammates, becoming fast friends with the Red Arrow.

He says his name is Roy, tells him he'll teach Jason the tricks of the trade. He shows him how to throw a punch, a _real_ punch. Dick scolds Roy, tells him he needs to focus on being a kid doing fun things, not learning how to be a punk, a fighter. Jason tells Dick to shove it, that his time with Roy is theirs and not his, that he can't tell him what to do.

They bicker.

Jason loves it.

He loves when they fight, loves when they bicker. It makes everything seem more real, eases the anxiety, because at the end of it all, after all the fights and the nagging and words tossed between them in war, Jason still goes to that small cozy apartment. He goes home, and for a short while he forgets about the ants crawling under his skin, his lungs feel lighter and he can breathe again. 

It lasts but a moment.

But still, he hopes.

* * *

Some nights Dick comes home late. Well, later than usual. Some nights he staggers through the door, costume in shreds, mask half torn off revealing a face painted varying hues of purple and gruesome yellow-green.

He helps Kory those nights. It makes him feel useful, gives him purpose. He sees his mother in those moments when Dick comes home like that; lying limp on the couch as he works around him, cleaning his wounds and tying bandages neat and tidy. Dick pats him on the head, tells him he should study hard, that he would make a good doctor. He crinkles his nose at him, tells him no way, he wants to do something fun. They bicker like usual. Kory ushers him to bed and he complies, but he listens on as Kory talks quietly to Dick, shushing him and healing his outer shell with words like honey. She tells him not to come home like that, that it must scare Jason seeing him like that. He wants to reassure her, to tell her that if he were honest it just reminded him of home.

His heart aches with how much attention Kory gives him. Kory’s wondrous tales of Tamaran quickly turned to nightmares as she spoke of her time as a slave of her own home, beaten, battered, tortured, humiliated. She looks at him with those knowing eyes as she speaks, watches how he sinks further into the comfort of his bed, as his eyes can't focus on one thing or the other but for some reason he can't make contact with those bright green eyes. Like she knows that somehow they are similar. He doesn't tell her she's right; he doesn't think he has the right to, their situations are vastly different, he hasn't been through what she's been through. No, she's had it worse, he shouldn't complain. So his heart continues to ache, because he allows her to believe that she's right, that they are the same, that it must hurt him to see Dick in such a condition.

But it reminds him of home.

Some nights when Dick comes home late he isn't bruised on the outside but something is changed within. He's angrier. His temper comes short and fast. In these moments Kory sends him to bed immediately.

“But I want to help.”

“Not right now Jason.”

He pouts but her eyes are elsewhere. She is a warrior standing tall and Dick is her prey. The warrior does not attack but assesses her opponent, for the need to intervene. She stands between the civilian and the threat, the child and the man. In these moments Jason feels alone. His heart aches with how much he wants to be there for Dick like Dick has been there for him.

Anger is such a simple emotion.

It conquers swift and forceful, blinding those it overcomes to rage so that nothing else can be seen. He doesn't understand what makes Dick so angry, doesn't understand why Kory stands between them.

“I want to help,” he says more forcefully one night.

She looks at him with those eyes, those eyes that bite with sharp teeth into his soul, those eyes that say I know exactly what you're thinking, I know exactly what you are.

She looks at him with those eyes that make him want to cower in fear, they see too much, know too much, but he wants to help, he has to help Dick. So he stands his ground.

Dick is angry. Anger is a powerful emotion. Jason wants to overcome that power. He wants to be strong, has to be strong.

He wants his home to be happy and warm again.

Anger is such a simple emotion. But then again, so is love. 

Dick sits at the kitchen table, head in his hands. So Jason sits next to him. Nothing is said, no words spoken, just Dick’s ragged breathing, Jason’s quiet and steady. They sit. He waits. Watches over Dick.

Always watching, always waiting.

After some time has passed he reaches a hand out. Dick flinches under his touch, whips his head around wildly, like he didn't even know Jason had been there, locks eyes on him like he's truly seeing for the first time. His mask breaks, the anger crumbling, giving way to something more raw as he wraps Jason in tight arms. Jason pats his back, hesitant at first, then he finds rhythm, soothes the man beneath his tiny hands.

Kory watches, a hand over her mouth, and suddenly her eyes are different, they're even more bright. They watch him and he watches her, waiting.

Watching and waiting, for what he never knows. For the needle to drop, to shatter the glass of their solitude, their quiet, happy home. For them to decide he wasn't ever worth it. For him to be abandoned once more. For him to be alone.

The anxiety never leaves.

But as Dick silently shakes beneath his small arms that can't quite make a full circle around his broad back, as he holds on tight, tighter still, as Kory watches on with something like love in her eyes.

The anxiety dissipates.

And still, he hopes.

* * *

“Jason could you come here. We need to talk.”

Sinking.

His heart is dropping, plummeting, sinking, down, down, _down_. He feels it in his stomach, in the way it twists and turns and knots. Feels it in the numbness that spreads from the tips of his toes to the thick curly hair on his head.

Mind racing, backtracking, reeling. How did he go wrong? Can he still fix it? No, no, no, it's too soon, too soon. He doesn't want to leave, can't leave, what did he do wrong, please just tell him!

_No, no, no._

He breathes. In. And out.

In.

Out.

He steels his gaze, hardens his face as he walks death row to where Kory and Dick sit on the couch. She reaches gentle hands out, steers him to sit between them. He follows rigid, spine tingling, body cold as ice.

“Jason.”

Racing, pounding, harder, harder, harder. He thinks his heart will stop.

“Jason, do you like living here?”

The question startles him. His body must jump about ten feet in the air, maybe higher, but Dick and Kory just look on watching, waiting for his answer like they asked the most simple, inane question in the world.

Like it didn't mean the world to him.

“Of course I do!”

Dick reaches out a hand. A heavy weight that grounds his shaking shoulders. He is transported back in time to a dark and brutal alleyway, a tire iron clattering to the ground in a cacophony of sound in the silent night.

“We were wondering-well we wanted to ask you-”

He stumbles, looks to Kory, so he follows his gaze. Kory looks down at him tenderly, smiles that sweet smile that he adores so much.

“Jason would you like to live with us longer?”

He nods his head so eagerly he worries it may fall off. He doesn't worry for long though as his heart is fluttering, soaring, taking flight.

“How about forever?”

Her words hit him, settle in his chest, but they don't weight his heart down they lift it up, a buoy that propels his heart higher and higher on the wings of hope.

“Jason,” Dick’s voice is soft and kind and he can hear the grin in his voice before he turns to look. “We’d like you to be a part of this family.”

He's learned in his time with Dick that he's a big crybaby.

He doesn't mind so much.

He does not hate it.

His heart is happy.

Soaring and flying high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^) 
> 
> hello I'm love this fic and also everyone who reads it! Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos!! 
> 
> find me on tumblr [here](https://jasontoddapologist.tumblr.com).


	4. Bird Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick teaches Jason what it means to be Robin. Jason learns he and Dick have more in common than he thought.

“To learn how to fly you must first learn to fall.”

Warm air swirls around him, high, high, high in the sky. He surveys the city below like a hawk hunts out its prey.

No, not a hawk.

A Robin.

His heart took flight when he was just ten years old and Dick adopted him officially. His body took flight two months after his eleventh birthday.

Dick teaches him how to fly, to flip and twist and contort his limbs in every which way, elastic, elusive. He teaches him how to fight, packing punches and kicks with breathtaking power. He goes out at night under the wings of night, a robin.

He is robin, he is light, he is magic.

* * *

 Nightmares came to him often and easily. They aren't so easy to forget.

Dreams of solitude, the walls of high rises all around him, echoing screams that can't be pinpointed, can't be reached. He runs, fast and hard, lungs burning, muscles aching, he runs and runs and runs. He can't find who is screaming and he's scared, scared that it's his mom, that she's hurt again, that she's hurt herself again. His mouth tastes like metal, the air carries the stench of blood. The screaming won't stop, just gets louder and louder and louder.

He wakes up with a jolt, body jerking, Kory cradling his head as Dick holds down his thrashing limbs.

“It's okay! You're okay Jay, you're okay!”

He is screaming.

His lip hurts where he's bitten straight through, blood pooling into his mouth, dribbling down his chin.

Raw.

His throat is raw and tender, it's hard to swallow what little bloody spit he has, the cords rubbing together like sandpaper.

Kory shushes him, gentle and soft in his ears. His heart is thumping, over-exerting itself, it burns, it aches, it hurts.

He hurts.

“You're okay.”

He's swaying and it makes him a little dizzy but he finds comfort in the gentle rocking, like driftwood caught in a series of waves, far out in the ocean, deep in the sea. Kory continues to rock him, back and forth, back and forth, singing a sweet melody.

Dick takes him from her arms, carries him to the fire escape then up towards the roof. He wonders vaguely how strong Dick must be to be able to carry out such a feat. Then he remembers how small he is for his age, his growth being temporarily stunted by lack of proper nutrition and sleep. He was slowly gaining pounds and inches but not fast enough, never fast enough.

He settles him in his lap, legs dangling carelessly over the edge of the building, the air cool yet not chilly. A breeze wafts over him like a blanket, soothing his wracked breathing. He doesn't know if Kory followed them. At that moment, he and Dick are the only two people in the world.

“I used to have nightmares too.”

His words are quiet, spoken like a confession to the night.

“You did?”

He twists his neck to look at Dick with wide eyes struck in awe. Dick is strong, not weak like him. He is a man and not a boy riddled with bad thoughts and worse dreams. But he recalls a night not so long ago, when Dick was filled with anger, knuckles red, mumbling wicked words, when Jason had reached out to him, when Dick had held him back in tight arms.

Dick nods, stares out at the bright lights of the city, solemn.

“Yeah.” He looks down at Jason, mouth forming a sad smile and his heart hurts. “Yeah I did. My parents died in front of me.”

Jason sucks in a breath. His eyes water as he remembers finding his mom slumped over the grimy tub in their tiny bathroom. Eyes glossy, body limp and cold as ice, he shook her, called out her name over and over again, slapped her, sobbed endless waves. He held her lifeless body in his arms as he cursed her name. _Why wasn't I good enough for you mom?_ His heart clenched in pain as he thought of Dick going through the same scenario. No, that doesn't seem right. Dick was a good man, didn't deserve those things happening to him, he was good and it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Did I ever tell you that I used to be an acrobat?” He shakes his head but the image of him flying and twirling and flipping through the air with invisible wings on his back clicked in his mind and he smiled. Dick smiled back and continued, “my parents and I, we belonged to a circus. Our family were trapeze artist, amazing ones. I could watch my mom and dad for hours and I was so excited when they started training me.”

His eyes were far-away as he was transported back in time to his trouble-free childhood days.

“I would practice all day, every day. It was the most fun I'd ever had.” His smile faded. “But then there was an accident one night during a show.”

“They fell?”

He nods, a jerky movement, turns his head back to the city, eyes hard and wet.

“Yeah, they fell. See the thing about learning to fly is, well, you have to learn how to fall.”

Jason mulls over the words. He thinks they're stupid words but he doesn't say anything out loud. Falling was scary; who would catch him?

“Isn't that scary?”

He whispers the words, ashamed they had come from his mouth. He hated how weak he was.

But Dick only looks at him with kindness, hugs his body closer, wraps his arms tight as he swings his legs again, rocking Jason with him.

“No. It's not scary as long as there's someone there to catch you.”

“Who catches you?”

There are stars in his eyes, a dreamlike quality washing over his face as his smile grows, tender and warm.

“Kory.”

He turns his gaze to Jason then, brings up a finger to tap at his button nose as he asks, “and you know who catches you?”

Jason shakes his head. No one has ever caught him. He can't remember the last time he wasn't alone; well, before he had Dick and Kory that is. Before Dick and Kory there wasn't a single soul that cared about his existence. Not even himself, if he were honest. But he's become such a good liar.

Dick grins, wide, all toothy mouth and crinkly eyes.

“I do,” he says with laughter in his voice.

Jason laughs with him, a bright, airy sound. His body feels light and heavy, his heart filled with warmth, his muscles tired and sore. He is content with the answer, believes in the promise. So he sinks further into Dick, closes his eyes, feels soft and cozy and drifts off into peaceful slumber.

The next night Dick shows him the red and green uniform. Tells him what it means to be a Robin, that it's a big responsibility but he thinks Jason is fit for the task. Jason jumps up and down in excitement first then settles down, serious, listens to Dick carefully. He begins to train him, the man who preys on the wings of night and the smaller bird.

Little wing he calls him.

Jason loves it.

* * *

 “Jason! Breakfast!”

He ignores the siren call in favor of the comfort of his bed, snuggling further into the mountain of blankets and pillows.

A heavy weight falls on his little body, the air whooshing out of his lungs as he hollers.

“Get off!”

Dick cackles as he rolls his body off Jason’s and plucking him from the bed, blankets and all.

“It's breakfast time little wing!”

He carries him to the table, bubbly giggles emerging from his cozy cocoon. Kory unwraps him, combs his messy curls into something resembling hair rather than a bird’s nest, cups his round cheeks and plants a kiss on his head as a good morning.

Gooey chocolate chip pancakes and the fluffiest eggs he's ever seen make their way into his growing tummy. He's gained three whole inches since he joined Dick and Kory’s home. His home.

A condition for his being Robin is that he must excel in his studies. He doesn't mind much; he enjoys learning, eagerly absorbing any and all information he can get his hands on. His mind is growing with his body and he feels like he's living life for the first time.

And he is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^D
> 
> thank you to everyone who reads, comments & kudos!!
> 
> chapter title taken from Florence and the Machine's song of the same name! give it a listen ;)
> 
> tumblr [here](https://mlmjasontoddwayne.tumblr.com) <3


	5. Red like Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason gets in trouble for the first time. Dick is gone.

Surprisingly, he gets in his first real fight at school and not on the job.

Thankfully, Dick is away on business.

He shows up to Titans Tower with a split lip and black eye. Kory starts speaking in Tamaran, and while he doesn't quite know the language yet, he's sure she's not saying anything particularly nice or comforting. She sits him down on a stool smacking a large bag of ice onto his swollen eye and lip. Roy pats him on the back with a quiet “atta boy” while Donna shakes her head at him.

“Explain,” Kory says ten minutes later after she's finally calmed down enough to speak in a language he understands.

Fire.

Her hair is fire. It's something he's always thought, ever since the first time he met her, but as she looks at him with blazing eyes, suddenly her hair is a furious flaming mess, it's tendrils crowding in and wrapping around him.

Hot.

His face feels hot, it's burning with the intensity of her gaze, and so he looks down to his feet, plays with the frayed edges of his favorite red hoodie.

“Well?” She crosses her arm, taps her foot.

She reminds him of the moms in old sitcoms that found their kid coming home past curfew.

And while he's ashamed he's in trouble for something as petty as a schoolyard brawl, he's also a little bit happy at the outcome.

 _She cares_ , he thinks, _no one ever cared if I got in a fight before._

She sighs, crouches down so she's eye level with him. Her features are still stern, fire and scalding, but her eyes are kind as always.

“Jason, please tell me what happened,” she pleads softly and he breaks.

“This kid was making fun of me,” he mumbles.

The excuse sounds stupid to his own ears. He was taunted? So what! He was taunted every night, a kid in a spandex uniform beating up bad guys. But....

“He said I was just a no good street rat,” he says quietly. He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but the words catch, stick to his tongue along with bile. “He said mama probably killed herself on purpose so she didn't have to deal with me.”

She sucks in a breath, picks him up from the stool, settles him in her lap. Warm fingertips brush his curls from his forehead. He leans into the touch, acid still staining his tongue, his teeth, and was it the ice pack melting or tears he felt run down his face.

“Children can be vile creatures. It is not your fault what happened to your mother Jason.”

He nods but his body has gone numb and he feels like he isn't really there anymore, sitting in the lap of a kind woman, in the secret base of a team of superheroes he's always admired, always aspired to be.

“Jason.”

She says his name so tenderly and his heart hurts and bursts. He loves when they call his name, especially when he is home and happy and warm and loved. He hates when they call his name and he is reminded that his mother never called quite like that. He hates that he couldn’t remember the last time she called his name before she died. He hates that he forgets even more with each passing day what his mother’s warmth felt like. He hates that he remembers all the horrors that he lived through because of her.

Fingers tilt his chin up. Her face is distorted and watery and, ah, so they were tears, not the ice.

“Jason it was not your fault. Do you believe me?”

He shakes his head, opens his mouth to say _no I don't believe you, I can't believe you,_ but nothing comes out except a sound like he's being strangled. He _feels_ like he's being strangled, his throat is so tight, so tight.

“You will,” she says, smiling softly. “I'll help you.”

The room is quiet save for his sobs and her soothing shushes, and he doesn't know if the others are still there watching, but he hopes and he prays that they aren't.

He hates being weak.

* * *

Dick is gone more often than not.

He hates how much he misses him.

The man can be angry at times, at himself, at others, at the world. When he becomes induced in rage he withdraws.

And so, he is gone more often than not.

He keeps Kory company in those times. They sit cuddled on the couch, watching crappy tv shows about nothing and talk about everything. She reads to him at night, but he doesn't like it if Dick isn't there. When Dick is home he reenacts the story Kory weaves. So she starts to teach him her language and traditions in his absence.

Some nights she takes him with her to Titans Tower. Dick is still away, somewhere Jason doesn't know about, and he misses him, but he hates that he misses him. He wants to be strong, not weak. He feels weak. He is weak.

Nights at the tower are his favorite; sparring with Roy and Donna, reading and learning with Raven, racing with Wally, goofing off and playing silly games with Gar and Vic.

But Dick is gone.

Kory’s mind is elsewhere, far away, stuck on thoughts of birds with wings the color of night.

And his heart aches for her.

* * *

Dick comes home eventually. He always does. Kory is always waiting, her heart open, bare to the world. He wishes he had strength like her.

But he is not kind. His heart is closed off. He is hardened and resentful, full of rage.

They stand on the rooftop of their tiny apartment, looking down below into the night, for once clad only in their pajamas and not their uniforms. His fists clench, nails digging in to calloused flesh creating deep crescent craters.

“Where do you go?”

Dick doesn't answer, stays quiet. Jason seethes. He turns to him, swings out, connects with the hardened muscle covering Dick’s ribs.

“Where have you been?!” He yells, keeps hitting, fists small and full of fury.

His eyes burn and no, no, no, _no_ he can't start crying, not now. He needs to be strong for Kory because he knows. He knows what's it's like to always watch the ones you love go, to always wait for them to return.

Always watching, always waiting.

So he keeps hitting, hitting, hitting still, even after Dick turns to him, catches his fists in each hand, pulls his body towards him, hugs him close to his chest.

“It's okay,” he says quietly. “I deserve it.”

“No you don't,” he yells.

His words contradict his actions but he can't help how he feels, never has. Dick doesn't deserve to hurt and to be angry. He doesn't fully understand his past, but he knows he is a good man, a good father. So he yells and he hits and he's angry. And he hurts.

“It's okay,” he says again, holding tighter still. “I'm sorry.”

Jason cries. He cries and he cries and he cries. Just when he thinks he's run out of tears, when the dam has broken and there's no reservoir left, when he thinks he's all shriveled up, he feels rough hands rub his back, caress his hair, hears Dick say over and over “I'm sorry.” He cries and he cries and he cries more.

They stay like that for a long time.

“I'm sorry,” he says again.

“Just don't go,” he replies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My summary was misleading :3
> 
> Dick is not gone for good, just keeping up with his usual self-destructive foolishness. 
> 
> thanks to all for reading and for the lovely comments! I'm love you all <3


	6. The Gentle Goodnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason meets Bruce for the first time. Dick and Kory have a secret.

He meets him for the first time sometime after he's turned twelve.

The manor is large and looming, glaring the disparity of classes between them. It's big, far too big, and he's overwhelmed with the intensity of it all.

“Bruce this is my son, Jason.”

The man is older than Dick, with greying hair and wrinkles sprinkled on his weathered face. He looks down his straight nose at Jason, assessing, eyes narrowed, before stooping down to eye level, a soft smile on his thin lips.

“My name is Bruce. It's nice to finally meet you.” He holds out a large calloused hand and Jason takes it into his own smaller one.

“Uh,” he replies dumbly.

He looks up with wide uncertain eyes to Dick who simply looks on in fondness and adoration. The gravity of the situation escapes him, who exactly it is he's meeting for the first time blows right over his head. Only the intimidating house with its wealthy occupant crowd his vision, his mind, and he cannot think past the confusion of it all.

Dick had said he was taking Kory out for a date, a proper date and he didn't know the difference between a date and a proper date, but he knew well enough that he wouldn't be left home alone. He didn't mind it so much; he liked to think it wasn't because Dick didn't trust him but rather he didn't want Jason to be alone for hours on end, something he'd been accustomed to before.

Bruce releases his hand and stands tall, taller than Dick even. Dick chuckles at his lackluster response, plants a hand on his back and guides him into the ever growing manor.

“Bruce used to look after me. Like how I look after you,” he says, looks back a Jason with knowing eyes, eyes that remind him of Kory. 

The words and the meaning behind them hit him and he turns to Bruce with a new wonderstruck expression, his eyes roaming wildly to the older man, around the manor, back to Dick.

“He's your dad?” He finally concludes. 

It's a simple enough question, innocent, but Dick takes the time to mull over the words, eyebrows bunching up before smoothing out, a wide happy smile forming.

“Yeah,” he says, "he is."

* * *

The evening passes quietly with Bruce reading the Gotham Gazette and Jason reading anything he can get his hands on.

Books tower over him every which way, the smell of paper old and new wafting around him, a fire ablaze next to him crating a cozy atmosphere. It's everything he's ever dreamed of.

Loud rustling of pages is all that can be heard in the silence of the room before curiosity gets the best of him.

“So you're Batman right?”

His voice booms, too loud, the words echoing and bouncing off wooden towers of books, the walls, the expensive family portraits.

He doesn't look up from his paper, just sighs softly, crosses then uncrosses his legs.

“I-I mean…well, because Dick always talks about his mentor and everything and he said you're his Dad, so I-“

“I'm Batman,” he says deeply with a faux menacing look, and was it the shadows from the light of the fire or did he look softer somehow, his rock hard features smoothed under the gaze of a child with stars and constellations in his eyes. 

He brightens, a toothy grin enveloping his features and he jumps from the comfort of his overstuffed chair to bound over to Bruce. He asks him a million questions: _how did you become the Batman? What happens to the bad guys? Are you ever scared?_

“Do you ever regret it?”

The question stuns the man, his mouth snapping shut, a serious expression falling over his features. His brow settles low, wrinkles set deep, mouth tugged into a frown. Jason shrinks back into himself, worried that he'd overstepped, asked too many questions, asked the wrong question, and his stomach felt sick, he didn't like it not one bit. He didn't like how dark Bruce looked, didn't like how the air felt supercharged crackling with tense energy. His stomach flipped and churned and he had to remind himself that he was standing on solid ground, not soaring through the air.

“Hmm.” He hums, looking back at him with sad eyes and he thinks _now where have I seen that expression before_. “Sometimes,” he says finally.

“When?” He asks because he doesn't know when to quit, never has.

He smiles and the weight of it seems to add ten more years to his weathered skin.

“Sometimes when I look at Dick, at what he's become. Then I regret it.”

“Ah,” he says and nods like he understands, because he does, truly he does.

He remembers where he's seen that expression before; he sees it on Kory as she looks at Dick, as she looks at Jason watching him grow as Robin. He's seen it on Dick’s face when Jason comes face to face with death, nearly falls and doesn't get back up, can't get back up.

So he pats Bruce’s hand, smiles at the man like how Kory smiles at him.

“Lunchtime,” Alfred calls from the doorway.

He doesn't know how long the old butler had been standing there but he guesses a while.

As Bruce stands from his chair, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding them out of the library, Alfred nods at him. The man exudes and air of understanding and thankfulness, and Jason doesn't understand why, but he nods back all the same. The thought occurs to him that maybe all they need, all anybody needs, is for someone to understand them; to look them in the eyes and say _yes, I understand, it's okay_ and move forward with gentleness and kindness.

Compassion is often brutal. Humans are selfish beings. They take and they take, everything, always taking and never giving, taking and taking, everything, everything. Compassion and empathy can dull the mind and burden the heart when people take without regret, take freely, take everything, even your soul.

And the city is dark and silent, a brusque sentient. She does not sleep and she does not care for her inhabitants. She allows atrocities to happen; too many children watching their parents die before them, spurning them, enraging them.

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

But the night is not good, she is not kind nor loving. She does not understand. She is the silent city that watches on in darkness, always watching, always waiting, for something, anything. 

When the night is not good, do we go gently?

He doesn't have the answer, but as he sits with Bruce at a long and empty table with too many chairs and not enough people, as he eats cucumber sandwiches and chats with Alfred, he thinks that maybe it's better to be gentle and it's better to be kind.

Hearts are not meant to be hard. His has been melted and warmed, hot to the touch with the love of a family. 

He thinks how his life could have gone had Dick not found him in that alley years ago. He may be dead by now, or worse. There were always things worse than death, things that made you both crave and deny yourself death.

Hearts are not meant to be hard. 

* * *

Dick comes to pick him up late in the night.

He'd fallen asleep in the library, cuddled next to the fireplace with a large hound named Ace. Strong arms wrap around him, picking him up easily. He'd grown in the two years he spent with Dick, but he was still just a boy. The arms jostled him awake as they shifted his weight to a more comfortable position.

“…Dick?”

“Hey, buddy,” he whispered. “Sorry I'm late.”

“Mm.” He snuggled closer to the warmth of his chest, his heart beating steadily below, alive. “Where’s Kory?”

“She's waiting in the car.”

“Mm.”

Dick placed him in the backseat of the car, secured the seatbelt, wrapped a thick blanket around him for the drive home.

Kory twisted her body around in the passenger seat to look at him, her features gooey and soft like his favorite chocolate chip cookies. She swiped a hand across his forehead and he leaned into the touch of warm fingers.

“You need a haircut,” she giggled.

He hummed again, sleep whispering to him sweetly, dreams waiting to begin in the periphery of his vision.

She turned back around in her seat as Dick started the engine and drove towards the city that housed their tiny apartment.

Under the moonlight a glint of silver shone in his eyes before he succumbed to sleep’s soft words.

* * *

"Do you ever regret being a superhero?”

He asks the question the next day over breakfast. Evenly browned toast with too much strawberry jam hovers in the air as Dick ponders the question. He looks to Kory who simply smiles that knowing smile.

“Uh…why do you ask kiddo?”

“Bruce said sometimes he regrets it.”

“He did?”

He looks over at him startled, like he wasn't expecting what came out of Jason’s mouth. Like he didn't understand quite how much Bruce cares for him, despite it being evident to a young boy from the outside.

“Mhm,” he says around a spoonful of sugary cereal. “He said sometimes when he looks at you he regrets it.”

Dick hums, looks back to his toast, stares at it like it will somehow answer the questions to the universe, looks back to Jason.

“Huh.”

“I think he means he doesn't want you to be like him.”

Something changes in Dick’s demeanor; he softens, tilts his head to the side and gives him that goofy smile that makes Jason all giddy and warm. He reaches a hand out and ruffles his hair into a great big mess.

“Hm,” he hums smiling, and Jason doesn't know what he said to make Dick so pleased but he doesn't mind not knowing, as long as he's happy. "I guess so." 

"Jason hurry and finish your breakfast,” Kory says from the other side of the table, her face glowing, the epitome of the burning sun.

He wolfs down the rest of his cereal. Today is Lazy Sunday and he's set on watching all the silly cartoons he can cram into one day. He's been spending so much time lately studying and going out on vigilante duty that he hasn't had a fun day to himself.

Kory and Dick settle down with him; they cuddle on the couch with Jason laid out on their laps, Kory running absentminded fingers through his hair. Something catches in the tangles and pulls so he reaches up to extract her long fingers from his hair, notifies the band of silver metal with a shiny stone on top.

“What's this?”

Kory gasps looking down at their joined hands, then erupts into the most delightful laughter.

“Dick! We forgot to tell him!” She laughs and punches him none-too-gently in he arm.

He winces, laughs along with her. Jason sits up a little straighter. He wants to be in on the joke, wants to know why they're so jubilant with unabashed glee.

“Jason,” Kory says then pauses, her grin too wide to contain words. “Your father asked me to marry him last night.”

He stares at her with wide eyes. He loved Dick and loved Kory but he hadn't yet called him his father. Dick nonetheless always introduced him as his son, even if to Jason he was still just Dick. But he loved hearing the words on Kory’s tongue, wondered what the word for father was in tamaranean. The word jumbled and bounced around in his mind and he found himself smiling, a warm fuzzy feeling growing in his chest and spreading to his fingertips, the hairs on his head, the soles of his feet, the tips of his toes.

“Is that okay,” she asks hesitantly, and he doesn't know why she seems to be apprehensive now but he wants to make her feel better, let her know that it's more than okay, that it's great, it's great, it's great! It's the best news he's ever heard!

So he grins wide and nods his head and wraps his arms around both their shoulders, hugs them tight. They hug him back, his happy family.

He no longer feels hate in his heart.

That goodnight is gentle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all enjoyed the longer chapter :^) 
> 
> so I finally figured out where I'm going with this story and therefore where I'll end it. only a few chapters left so stay tuned :D !!!
> 
> chapter title taken from the [poem](https://m.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night) by Dylan Thomas. 
> 
> thanks for all the comments and kudos!!! <3
> 
> tumblr [here](https://jasontoddapologist.tumblr.com).


	7. Bells Will Be Ringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Kory get married. Jason ponders life as a superhero.

The wedding is beautiful and extravagant. He's never been to a wedding, only ever seen it portrayed in happy couples behind a televised screen, but it's everything and more he thought it would be.

Kory looks radiant before a dapper Dick, their friends and family surrounding them watching with overflowing joy and tears in their eyes. Dick had sat him down shortly after they announced their engagement, asked him to be his best man.

“What's a best man?”

“Well it means…” he paused, puckering his lips and puffing out his cheeks as he thought of an answer that would best suit a young boy. “It means that you're the best man in my life and I need your support. You watch my back at the altar, like how we watch each other's backs on the streets,” he grins, satisfied with the answer.

Jason returns the open smile, nods his head in a vigorous yes before prancing and parading throughout the small apartment. Kory laughs and giggles through it all, picks him up in her strong corded arms, twirls him around in the air.

“And you will dance with me, yes?”

“We’re dancing now!” He tilts his head back in laughter, stars in his eyes, his heart the lightest it's ever felt.

“At the wedding silly! You will dance with me then? A mother and son dance! I hear it is a tradition here,” she smiles warmly.

His laughter fizzles into subdued giggles as the words hit him.

 _Mother_.

It has been many years now since he last tasted the word on his embittered tongue, the word sour and grotesque. An image flashed before his eyes; of a woman with dark circles under her eyes and darker circles on her arms; of a tiny apartment with barely any furniture, just enough to tell someone lived there, but not enough to make it feel like home; of trail of empty bottles, tears running down his face as the bathroom door swung open and there she lay, body slumped on the tile floor, arms dangling by her side as if the sinew of muscle had come detached from the bone.

Mother.

He wonders how it's pronounced in tamaranean tongue. 

He tests the word, tastes it for its usual sourness, for any malcontent that settles deep in his belly. But then another image appears; of Kory wrapping him in her arms for the first time as she carried him off to bed, tucking the blankets up tight around his chin, stroking his hair and singing a foreign lullaby; of Kory reading him wondrous tales of fancy, laughing along as their beloved Dick enacted the fantastical; of Kory standing in the kitchen, tall and effervescent as the sun streamed through locks of lava cascading down a golden river, teaching Jason how to make his favorite chocolate chip cookies. And the word tasted sweet on his tongue, like pure cane sugar, like love.

So he smiles bright and happy, squeezes his arms as tight as he can around her broad shoulders, swaying their bodies to imaginary music. She holds him just as tight and with his ear pressed to her chest he can hear the loud thump, thump, thump of her heart as she watches and waits for his answer. She has always been watching, watching and waiting, always. He feels safe, he feels at home.

 _Home_.

“Yeah a mother son dance,” he smiles up at her, dimples setting deeply into the happiness of his cheeks.

Warmth spreads throughout her features and he wonders if perhaps Apollo had been reincarnated as a young Tamaranean woman.

So he stands behind Dick as Kory makes her way down an aisle of white rose petals in his best tux. It's his only tux; he'd never worn a tux before let alone own one, but Bruce Wayne wasn't letting anyone attend the wedding of his son if they weren't in their best dressed. He stood mighty and tall, chest puffed out in pride as he watched Dick watching Kory.

The scene stole his breath away.

There was no denying the presence of love.

And his family felt whole. 

* * *

The reception was a whirlwind.

He talked and danced and laughed with every member of the Titans. Before fanciful dinner plates of the most expensive food he’d ever laid eyes on were passed around, he made a speech.

He stood on his chair as he overlooked a sea of guests all staring back at him with watchful, calculating eyes. He'd never made a speech before, didn't know what the hell he was supposed to say, felt sweat pool in his palms, slicking the metal of the microphone. He looked to Dick who chuckled and smiled his goofy lopsided smile as he leaned his head on Kory’s shoulder, waiting. 

Watching and waiting.

He thought of his time spent with his found family. Dick was home more often now. He was more present in his time spent with Jason and Kory, more engaged. When he was able, he took him to school and picked him back up after the day was through. He'd tuck him into bed and check his homework, woke him up in the mornings in the most ridiculous and obnoxious ways possible (his favorite was the tickle attacks), ate breakfast with him and ruffled his hair. On the streets of the dark city they were the dynamic duo; it was like they could read each other's mind, know exactly where the other would be, know exactly what the other needed.

And Jason felt whole.

The anxiety washed away and in its place a feeling swelled up in his chest, closed off his throat, filled his lungs, his blood, his heart, his mind. It flooded his very soul. 

Love.

It hit him for the first time that he was so full of love. When was the last time he’d hated? He couldn't remember and a feeling of blessed relief washed over him. He loved spending time with his Kory, his mom, and he loved spending time with his Dick, his dad. He'd grown closer to Bruce since their first meeting, the old man taking time to train Jason in fighting skills and detective work, Alfred always fussing all about them. He hadn't been born into a family, not in the truest sense of the word, but somehow he'd found one. He'd found one in a dark alley in the grimiest sector of the city, dirty, bruised, malnourished, afraid, hateful, hateful, hateful. And hurt.

He didn't hurt anymore.

“Three years ago Dick found me in a very scary place. He brought me home and I met Kory. They accepted me into their home, no questions asked. I think that made me more scared in the beginning. I mean who goes around calling themselves Dick?” He pauses to laugh some of the nerves off, remembering their first encounter, and sees Dick flush pink, hears the shuffled laughter from the crowd along with the raucous laughter of the Titans.

“I didn't really trust him at first because I was so used to being lied to, so I thought he was the same. That he didn't really want me or care about me and that he would leave me one day. But he never did. I watched how much he loved Kory and felt that myself. He calls me his son now and sometimes I call him dad. Now I get to call Kory mom. You two taught me the meaning of love.”

He feels tears sting his eyes but he doesn't hate them. He does not feel weak. He feels like the strongest man on earth as Kory looks back with glistening eyes, both of his parents with tender smiles on their lips.

“So…mom, dad. I hope you have a happy marriage and don't ever break up.”

Laughter fills his ears before two sets of arms pull him down from his perch and hold him close, close, so close. He hears words of “I love you” repeated over an over again and he doesn't know who they're directed at or who says them but he doesn't mind because he is loved and he loves.

He dances with Kory. It's a slow, sweet song, and she lifts him in the air like she did in the kitchen back home, twirls him around and laughs with glee. He sways along with her and he doesn't know if his dancing is any good or if he looks like a fool but he couldn't care less as he glides underneath twinkling stars and firelight with his mom.   


* * *

They leave for a week for their honeymoon and he thinks he's going to die he misses them so much.

He spends his time with Bruce at the manor.

“Bruce, have you ever been in love?”

He chokes on the tea he was sipping, the cup clattering down loudly in its saucer, some of its contents splashing over. He dabs a napkin at the corner of his mouth, looks at Jason with surly eyes and a frown.

Bruce grunts but doesn't answer. Jason screws up his face at him, tries to figure out why he's dodging the question, gives up after a few moments out of frustration and boredom, tries a new tactic.

“Have you always wanted to be a superhero?”

He looks up at him this time, eyes grazing over him assessing his prey.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It's complicated.”

“Complicated how?” He tilts his head to the side. “C’mon I'm pretty smart you know, I bet I'd understand.” He grins reassuringly at Bruce.

Bruce stares back, expression flat and totally not reassured. But then he sighs and relents.

“Something happened in my past that led to the life I live now. But if I could give it all up…if I could give it all up freely and live without regrets I would.”

“What regrets would you have,” he asks because he never knows when to quit and he's feeling low and he misses Kory and Dick.

The man doesn't answer again, simply looks back at him with those sad eyes and knowing smile, picks up his Gazette and sets back to reading in the amicable silence.

_What regrets would you_ _have?_

What regrets would _he_ have? He thinks about dark scenarios in which Dick is broken and bruised and never makes it back home and his heart aches. He thinks of Kory’s torrential past and his chest clenches in pain. He thinks about losing them and he cannot breathe.

But if he wasn't a superhero would that all change?

If he wasn't a hero, if he didn't go out with Dick at night, watch his back, protect him, would he be able to sleep peacefully in the dark knowing what's lurking in the silent streets below?

A familiar churning stirs in his stomach, acid burning, stinging, scorching.

What if he wasn't a superhero?

What would he be?

A soft voice echoes out to him that he would be Jason, that he would always be Jason. But an even more persistent voice deep within the darkest corner of his soul, the place that is soiled black and oozes with pain, deep within the voice calls to him _you'll be nothing_. 

He misses his parents. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short messy chapter but here it is :^D
> 
> thank you to everyone who reads! your comments and kudos give me life <3
> 
> this series will be wrapping up shortly, just three more chapters to go!


	8. Envy and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bundle of joy stirs up Jason's home.

Her tiny hand grasps his forefinger, tightly, tightly, holding for her place in this newfound world. He watches over her from above, a small bundle cocooned in the softest of blankets, a mobile of rainbow colored stars dangling fanciful overhead to infiltrate soft dreams.

Kory had sat him down one afternoon after school while Dick was off gallivanting through the city. She smiled brightly, cheeks full, pink dusting their golden hue and she seemed to be glowing.

“Jason, I have some news.”

He gulped around the lump in his throat and he shouldn't be scared, really he shouldn't, but it was like a survival instinct; his hair stood on end as he waited in anticipation of the news, any news, watching and waiting on bated breath, his heart thumping wildly, wings flapping against the cage of white bone.

“You’re going to be a big brother,” she gushed, cupping a hand around her small belly.

Air whooshed out of him in relief as that wicked voice whispered _your safe once more._ In the back of his mind he feared that his luck would surely run out one day, maybe soon, maybe on the rooftops of a city that hides behind shadows. Then the words Kory spoke hit him and the foreboding feeling dissipated, overcome with a feeling he’d never felt before. It bubbled in his belly, floated up, up, up.

_Brother._

He laughed, breathless, grin shining and exuberant as he reached out, tentatively placing a hand on the muscled flesh of her abdomen, fingers hyper-sensitive to the soft fabric of her sweater as he felt for any movement.

“The baby is too tiny to feel right now, but soon,” she said kindly.

"Oh,” he breathed, afraid anything too loud would somehow scare the life growing within.

When Dick returned he ran and flung himself forward, leaping a mighty distance right into Dick’s arms, his body dangling from his neck. He returned the electric energy, wrapped his arms around him, swept him up into a mighty hug, laughed.

“What's all this for?”

“I'm a brother!”

Dick looked at him surprised, glanced over to Kory reading quietly by the balcony unperturbed by the commotion, his face softening, then melting, melting, gooey like warm chocolate.

“Yeah, buddy, you are,” he smiled.

He announced it to everyone he knew, everyone he saw, everyone, everyone.

 _Brother_.

He didn't know what it meant to be a brother. He'd never had one, never known one; his mother didn't have a brother, and his father, well, he didn't know much at all about that side of the family. What did a brother do? He thought of the cardboard cutout families shown on sitcoms and daytime dramas. Siblings always bickered and fought and oftentimes he wondered if they even loved one another let alone liked. The ones on the television screen seemed to act more like the borderline between friends and enemies rather than family that didn't sound like a fate he wished to live out. He loved his found family, his mother and father; he hoped to love his sibling as well. 

But what did it mean to be a brother?

He didn't know the answer, couldn't know until she was born. So he waited for months and months and months, the knots slowly tying and coiling tighter, tighter, tighter, it's black sticky string wrapped around his insides, squeezing.

And when she was born it dissolved like cotton candy on his tongue.

She was tiny, and he supposed all newborns were tiny, but this was all new for him so she was especially tiny. She had her mother’s golden skin, a mess of dark hair matted on her head, eyes dazzling green.

“What's her name,” he whispers. She was sleeping so soundly, one thumb tucked in her mouth to suckle on, the other balled in a tiny fist and he didn't want to wake her from her slumber.

“Mar’i,” Dick says softly and he's gazing at her with tender eyes filled with love and he doesn't believe he’s ever seen him look so soft, so vulnerable and open, reminiscent of Kory. “It was my mother's name.”

“Oh,” he whispers again, and he's not quite sure what this feeling is in his gut but he doesn't like it.

He thinks of his own name. He isn't sure where his namesake came from but he's sure it wasn't given to him with as much thought and care. After Dick officially adopted him all those years ago he never changed his name; Dick had said he could take his time, that he didn't have to change it at all if he didn't want to, and it wasn't that he didn't want to, not at all but he…. He didn't have anything left from home save his name, the only remnant that he used to belong to Catherine. Jason Peter Todd. He was a Todd. 

He hadn't been a Todd in a long time.

The feeling in his chest burns and it's fire grows, all consuming, and it's stifling, the heat, its stifling, insufferable.

Jealousy is a fickle thing. It grows and grows, feeding off of dark thoughts and darker desires until it's a beast gnawing at flesh and ripping out hearts. 

“Can I change my name?”

Dick looks at him startled like he was woken up from the most delightful dream and he supposes that maybe he was; woken from his dream to what could likely be a nightmare.

“What do you mean,” he says slowly, trying to comprehend the shift in focus from his newborn daughter to the boy before him. 

“Can I be Jason Grayson?”

“Oh,” he says. Then, “oh,” and a light goes off and his eyes are bright and shining and suddenly he's crying and Jason is crying too because he didn't mean to upset him, didn't mean to retract from Mar’i, to steal the spotlight, except he did. He was feeling low and left out and he doesn't know when to quit pushing his luck, never has, and he's sorry, sorry, sorry. His heart begs _don't go, don't leave me._

Then Dick tugs on his arm, pulls him close to his chest, one arm slung around his shoulder, the other arm cradling Mar’i and it's too much all at once.

He doesn't know what it means to be a brother.

He's still learning what it means to be a son.

But Dick is holding him and saying “of course you can be a Grayson” over and over again and it's the sweetest song, sweeter than anything he's heard Kory sing and the feeling is still there but as he looks at Mar'i through shimmering waves, as she slowly opens her eyes and gazes back. The feeling is swallowed up whole by a tiny hand grasping tightly onto his. 

He isn't dumb enough to think that Mar'i can understand them, to know what's going on, but there's something in the pressure of her hand, in the burning of her gaze that makes him think maybe, maybe she does understand, maybe it isn't divine timing. So his heart resolves and he makes an oath to himself to always protect this little life, this life that understands this fickle boy and all his wayward ways.

They get to take Mar’i home after a few days. Her crib is set up in his room, just until they find a bigger home.

He watches down at her, her tiny hand clasped tight onto his forefinger and he whispers, “I've got you little one.”

He learns what it means to be a brother. 

He finds he's still learning what it means to love.

* * *

Years pass by with the four of them living in functioning dysfunction. He still goes out with Dick at night patrolling. He's older now, taller and broader, able to be more of an intimidating force to their wretched foes, able to be more help, to protect the man who flies on the wings of night. 

Mar’i is five now and starting kindergarten but she's still too young to understand their lifestyle and they don't so much hide it from her as they are selective in what she sees and hears because he isn't naive enough to believe she doesn't notice; notice the excessive bumps and scrapes and bruises and cuts and broken bones; notice that sometimes Dick is gone far too long. But Dick is home more often, more and more with each passing day. And they watch over her, her farther under the guise of night, her brother from his bird’s nest.

He stays home less often now, more motivated than ever to keep he streets clean and free of danger. The city is still silent, but he hopes to make it less unforgiving for his sister. So he studies all that he can, for as long as he can, until his skin itches and crawls and his mind can't focus any longer. Then he dons his suit and flies into the night. Sometimes he goes without Dick. He doesn't do anything reckless that would get him into trouble; he takes down petty criminals, no one too big, no one too perilous. He always makes sure to come back home. Home that is filled with laughter and warmth and family. Home.

And he is happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter setting things up for the end :^D  
> Mar'i was always going to make it into this fic eventually and this chapter nicely segues into the next turn of events. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who has continued to read and to new readers, for all the comments and kudos <3
> 
> tumblr [here](https://jasontoddapologist.tumblr.com).


	9. Bird's of a Feather Flock Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick comes home injured one night and Jason questions his life as a superhero.

He comes home late one night, beaten, bruised, guarding his side like he's broken a few ribs. Kory isn't here to nurse him this time; she'd left him in charge of watching over Mar’i and he'd taken to the job diligently.

The door rattles and he stumbles through, crashing into the wall immediately. He wakes up with a start, goes for the staff he keeps beside the bed, glances over at Mar’i sleeping soundly in her crib. She's a little over two now and they really need to find a bigger home sooner rather than later as she crowds in every inch of space the large crib has to offer. When he see’s her tiny form still and calm save for the gentle and steady rhythmic rise and fall of her belly, he creeps out of bed, tip toes down the hallway.

He lays in a heap on the floor, arms hugging himself, and shaking, shaking, shaking furiously.

He's injured.

Oh God.

First he is scared.

He drops the staff in a clash of metal on wood, runs over to his thrashing body, grips his shoulders and starts hissing at him.

“Dick?”

He doesn't respond right away. The fear rushes in his veins, palpates, raising every hair, tingling his spine. No. _No_. He can't go through this again. So he shakes him a little more forcefully, then moves to cradle his face, angling it upwards where he finds a split lip, the blood staining his clacking teeth, two shiners, one for each eye. He's got a cut across his cheek and the blood seeps into his hand, sickly slick and making his skin crawl. Still he persists, getting inches from his face, their noses nearly touching as he looks into Dick’s glassy eyes and yells as loud as he dare.

“Dad!”

His eyes gain some life, his focus snapping to Jason for the first time since he found him on the floor.

“Jay…?” His words are slurred and he can't tell if he's trying to smile to reassure him or if he's grimacing in pain. Maybe both. “M’okay.”

“No. You're not,” he grits.

He gathers every bit of strength he has, feels all of his muscles protest as he lifts Dick from the cold hard floor, supports the majority of his dead weight onto his smaller frame. He shuffles over to the couch, throws Dick onto the cushions. He lay there in a heap, breathing wracked, one arm guarding his left side, the other arm supporting his elbow.

“What's broken?”

He asks the question clinically, eyes assessing. He's already guessed about how many bones need to be reset, what joints need to be popped back into place. Dick sucks in air like a fish out of water, like it's painful, and it probably is, but he waits for an answer before proceeding anyway.

“Ribs…two….maybe three….,” his words come out in short huffs, labored. He squeezes his eyes shut, turns his blackened face towards the cushions and if he didn't know any better he'd think Dick still had the domino on. “Right shoulder dislocated…arm may be broken. Can't tell.”

“Alright.”

He gets to work, grabs a few packs of frozen vegetables from the freezer, the first aid kit kept under the sink. Goes to the bathroom, grabs the big bottle of rubbing alcohol. He doesn't ask anymore questions, not even the ones that burn in the back of his throat, leaving the taste of ash in his mouth. Questions like _who did this to you? Why were you alone? Where was your team? Where was Bruce? Did anyone know?_

_Did anyone know?_

First comes the fear. Then…

Rage.

He's never felt such pure, unbridled rage before, and he's hurt, he knows he's hurt, but he wants, _needs_ , him to hurt more.

He seethes, his face feels hot, and red, red, red. All he can see is red. Red. Blood. Red. Blood.

Blood.

Dick winces as Jason none-too-gently wipes alcohol drenched gauze over the large diagonal cut on his face. Once it's clean and dressed he moves onto the bones. He leans onto the couch cushion invading what little space was left, puts all his weight into Dick’s dislocated shoulder, doesn't count to three before he pushes up and in, hears the loud _click_ and Dick’s grunt. He moves, grabs his arm, assesses, turning the mottled flesh over in his hands.

“Heh. You could be a doctor,” Dick grunts through clenched teeth.

He ignores him. His feet carry him to the kitchen, his hands dig out the large wooden spoon from the drawer. He places the spoon on Dick’s forearm, bent at an awkward angle. The wrapped gauze winds tightly around the spoon, Dick squirming and writhing in pain underneath as he unrelenting wraps tighter, tighter, tighter. The bone snaps, cracks, straightens. He pushes a throw pillow over Dick’s mouth to cover the shouts of agony; he doesn't want to wake Mar’i.

He lasts only a few silent moments after saran wrapping the frozen vegetables to his ribs.

“What the hell were you thinking,” he says lowly.

Dick cracks an eye open, looks at him through a narrow slit, tries to smile but the effort falls short through all the swelling bruised tissue.

“What the hell were you thinking!”

He strikes out. Doesn't mean to. It's a knee jerk reaction. He hurts. Dick hurts, he knows, but he hurts too, and so he wants Dick to hurt more.

“What the hell—!”

He hits him again and again. Dick winces at first, the moves more on his side, slowly, all while Jason wails on him, until he's fully on his right side and reaching out, wrapping him in his arms and pulling him towards his frail body.

He slumps into his arms, the tears starting up again. He hasn't cried since the wedding, hasn't had a reason to.

But he can't lose Dick.

Dick holds him, shushes him, caresses his hair and pats his back awkwardly with his spoon wrapped arm, like he did in the alley all those years ago.

“I'll be okay.”

A new wave of anger washes over him, cleansing him in a tsunami of emotion.

“That's not the point! What about me?” His lip wobbles and, God, he hates admitting how weak he is, how weak he would be without Dick in his life. “What about Mar’i?!”

He hugs him closer, buries his head in the crook of his neck. He's close, can feel his body shake as he lets out a long sigh.

“This is what I do Jason.” He pushes him away a few inches, grabs his face to swipe the tears from his eyes with calloused thumbs. “This is what I've always done and what I'll continue to do. This is the life I signed up for.”

“But-“

“No, Jason. Listen. I won't ever—can't ever—do anything else. This is my life.”

He doesn't understand, can't understand, this isn't the life he wants for himself.

This isn't the life he wants.

He cries harder at the realization.

If all this life gave him was death and heartbreak, even with all the hope and the lives saved, if it meant he never got to see his loved ones again, if it meant he had to see his love ones beaten and battered and clinging onto their last breath of life.

This isn't the life he wants.

He cries harder knowing that Dick speaks the truth. Dick was driven and hardworking, Bruce's mentoring drilled down to his very being, his very soul. This is his life. And it isn't personal for Jason; it gave him hope, helped to give his life meaning when he needed it. But he didn't need it anymore. 

This isn't the life he wants. 

Dick pulls him onto the couch and they lay together the rest of the night; Dick crowded in on himself, protective of his broken body, Jason in his arms, shoulders shaking as he tries to quiet his sobs.

He thinks of Mar’i alone in her crib and his heart aches.

This is not the life he wants.

* * *

What if his life were different?

Where would he be right now?

Alone and scared, buried beneath a shallow grave?

“This is what I want to do. But, it may not be the same for you.”

Dick sits him down at the table a week later, after all the swelling goes down and the cut has begun to scab over in an ugly brown slash across an otherwise perfect and unmarried face. After he’s skipped his seventh consecutive night of patrol. After he doesn't look Dick in the eye, can't look him in the eye.

“What do you want to do Jason?”

He looks up at him startled, as if the question wasn't meant for him but he'd heard it anyway.

What does he want to do?

What would he do?

What could he do?

He thinks of his life on the streets before Dick took him in. No, even if for some unfathomable reason he wanted to, he couldn't go back to that life. No, now he knew the happiness and the warmth of a family, of a home.

An image flashes in his mind, of Bruce looking back at him with sad eyes, the words _I have regrets when I look at Dick, at what he's become_ hangs in the air, a guillotine waiting to serve its final sentence.

What could he do?

_You could be a doctor._

Dick reaches over, ruffles his hair, rises from the table, walks over to a babbling Mar’i scribbling haphazardly on the wall in bright purple crayon.

“Think about it.”

He goes to bed that night with the words hot on his tongue.

What could he do? 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're in the final stretch! only one chapter left :D
> 
> thank you to everyone who has followed this story and for all the lovely comments/kudos <3

**Author's Note:**

> What's better than Jason being adopted by Bruce and dying you ask? 
> 
> The answer is Dick and his girlfriend/soon-to-be wife adopting Jason and thus he never dies and lives in a happy home god bless and goodnight :^)
> 
> tumblr is [here](https://jasontoddapologist.tumblr.com).


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